Weathered staff, muddy boots, broken time-piece, rugged coat, fiddle, pencil stub, yellowed pages, old photograph, parched wine-skin, coffee beans & dry flowers...scribblings of a wandering gypsy.
Yes, this is the place where I scribble all my thoughts in the form of poetry.

Monday, January 25, 2010

I had actually written this poem a few years back. I was going through my old diary entries today and came across it which was quite a sweet coincidence considering that tomorrow is Republic Day. So I thought I'll post it :) Btw Happy Republic Day to all fellow Indians :)

A broken heartDevoid of hope.

Crying eyes, With no will to cope.

A battered spiritForced to move on.

A worn out soul Shorn of a chimera of a peaceful dawn.

A hand robbed of penAnd given a gun instead.

An artist stripped of colourAnd made to play with blood.

A poet deprived of his thoughtsAnd forced to say what men in power want.

A composer deprived of peaceful melodyAnd coerced to compose a song of war that haunts.

A child wizened before his timeTo fend for his family when his father is at the front.

A wife living a hell everydayHiding from the truth that she cannot confront.

Will they ever come back?Will we see them again?

Will their sacrifice be justified?Will it help the peace to reign?

As you and I sleep on our bedsBlissfully ignorant of the price someone paid.

For letting us have the freedom,In the murky waters of politics, to wade.

When will we wake up from this slumber?When will we realise and when will we see?

That the fabricated liberty that we enjoyIs a sham, that our freedom was never free…

Friday, January 15, 2010

I just thought I should share this speech that a US soldier Mike Prysner gave which describes a mission he took part in; where his unit forced Iraqis out of half a dozen homes, with no compassion or compensation, so the US military could use them. I won't add anything else to this speech. The speech says it all :)

" I tried hard to be proud of my service, but all I could feel was shame. Racism could no longer mask the reality of the occupation. These were people, these were human beings. I've since been plagued by guilt, any time I see an elderly man, like the one who couldn't walk, who we rolled onto a stretcher, and told the Iraqi police to take him away. I feel guilt any time I see a mother with her childen, like the one who cried hysterically, and screamed that we're worse than Saddam, as we forced her from her home. I feel guilt any time I see a young girl, like the one I grabbed by the arm, and dragged into the street.

We were told we were fighting terrorists.. the real terrorist was me, and the real terrorism was this occupation. Racism within the military has long been an important tool to justify the destruction and occupation of another country, it has long been used to justify the killing, subjugation and torture of another people. Racism is a vital weapon employed by this government; it is a more important weapon than a rifle, a tank, a bomber, or a battleship; it is more destructive than an artillery shell, or a bunker buster, or tomahawk missile.

While all those weapons are created and owned by this government, they are harmless without people willing to use them. Those who send us to war, do not have to pull the trigger, or lob a mortar round; they do not have to fight the war, they merely have to sell the war. They need a public who's willing to send their soldiers into harm's way. They need soldiers who are willing to kill and be killed, without question.

They can spend millions on a single bomb, but that bomb only becomes a weapon, when the ranks of the military are willing to follow orders to use it. They can send every last soldier anywhere on Earth, but there will only be a war, if soldiers are willing to fight.. And the ruling class, the billionaires who profit from human suffering, care only about expanding their wealth, controlling the world economy.

Understand that their power lies only in their ability to convince us that war, oppression, and exploitation is in our interest. They understand that their wealth is dependent on their ability to convince the working class to die, to control the market of another country, and convincing us to kill and die, is based on their ability to make us think that we are somehow superior.

Soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, have nothing to gain from this occupation. The vast majority of people living in the U.S. have nothing to gain from this occupation. In fact, not only do we have nothing to gain, but we suffer more because of it. We lose limbs, endure trauma, and give our lives. Our families have to watch flag-draped coffins lowered into the earth.

Millions in this country without health care, jobs, or access to education, have watched this government squander over FOUR-HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS A DAY ON THIS OCCUPATION. [IRAQ]

Poor and working people in this country, are send to kill poor and working people in another country, to make the rich richer; and without racism, soldiers would realize that they have more in common with the Iraqi people, than they do with the billionaires who send us to war.

I threw families onto the street in Iraq, only to come home and find families thrown onto the street in this country, and it's a tragic, and unnecessary foreclosure crisis.

We need to wake up and realize that our real enemies are not in some distant land, they're not people whose names we don't know, and cultures we don't understand. The enemy is people we know very well, and people we can identify. The enemy is a system that wages war when it's profitable. The enemy is the CEO's who lay us off from our jobs when it's profitable; it's the insurance companies who deny us health care when it's profitable; it's the banks who take away our homes when it's profitable.

Our enemy is not five thousand miles away, they are right here at home. When we organize, and fight with our sisters and brothers, we can stop this war, we can stop this government, and we can create a better world."

About Coffee Beans and Dry Flowers...

Coffee Beans and dry flowers,A spent candle and ashes in the fireplace; Coffee lying stale in a chipped mug,And a table cloth that was once white,Edged with frayed lace.A window pane that is cracked,Climbers lying uncared for on the sill,A raging storm beyond it,But here my world stands still.

A bulb in the corner, at times flickering,And a radio sometimes crackles...But registers nothing.

But somewhere amidst all of this, I wait...While penningmy thoughts on yellowed pages,Random scribblings of a wandering gypsy perhaps,Waiting for my vagrant soul to find a home,Waiting for my hand to be held and grasped.

Yes, this is the place where I scribble all my thoughts in the form of poetry.

About Me

Have you ever stopped to stare at roadside flowers? Run around on dewy grass on early spring mornings? Enjoyed the musty smell of frayed pages of old books? Smiled back at strangers? Ever felt like walking back home in the rain? Stopped whatever you were doing to listen to your favourite song on the radio? Ever strained your ears to hear silence? Become teary eyed during mushy scenes in movies? Ever called up long lost friends for no apparent reason? Wanted to believe in something that cannot be explained? Ever loved? Been loved? ever lain spread eagled on the terrace, counting the wishes amidst the phosphorescent sea of a million stars overhead, wondering whether yours was somewhere among those waves too?
See, I told you…you know me…